Helen

A silver sycamore stands sentinel,
Watches while my soul drips sore
With grief unwonted, unlooked for;
Ache unmended upended my core
This night, all things but one went well...

The Eve had melted to Holy Day,
When I stood for the last time
This visit, the candlelight sublime
Still burned bright on eye's mind,
As I blinked hard, keeping tears at bay...

Two short years ago I was not alone
This night—I walked down the aisle,
By my side a tiny woman with a smile,
Proud to have her family here a while
Nodded to all around—now she is gone...

Gone from slippery wooden pew,
From the lips and the minds of men,
Who are so quick to carry on again—
But a grandchild starts weeping when
Memories come in waves not a few...

Perhaps Christmas Eve must start
With this wretched, Fall-tainted scar
To remind me of that blazing star
Leading the lowly and wise from afar
To seek the Healer of each man's heart.

Why?

Oh, the questions we ask You, Begetter of the universe. 

You, Who spun waves and particles into golden light, we question if Your hands are big enough to hold us. You, Who breathed life into our spirits and our dusty frames, we pause to ask if You care about us. You, Whose finger carved words into the dirt, we ask if You care enough to write our stories, to show us what You want from us and for us.

You, Who entered time, slipped into skin, felt rejection and loneliness—we presume You have left us when our blind eyes cannot see You, and Your presence is not palpable. You, Who are called the Light of the world, we ask where You have gone when we wander in darkness. You, Who carefully marked the trenches of the world, poured its foundation, and sent the Cornerstone, why do we think You are incapable of answering our question marks?

Why does our friend have to walk through that valley? Our family member suffer that pain? Why do our own hearts, crushed, drip red in the darkness and in the blaze of day?

We ask when You will show up, why You allowed tragic loss, why there is emptiness sucking at our hearts like a black hole. Why does the darkness feel overwhelming, when the Light has rendered darkness outmoded, dead, and chased away?

There was a time when You stepped into our world. When eternity became now. You bought us back from hopeless death. And still we question. Still we scream. Still we shake our fists and walk away. You, Who never promised life would be easy, we expect to right everything, now. You, Who never explained Yourself to Job, we expect to spell out every answer to our every why? We expect You to operate like we do, to think in our human boxes, in our narrow line of sight. You, Creator, Sustainer, Holy One, Alpha, Omega... You, immortal, immutable, invisible, we ask to explain Yourself to our finite minds, to contain Yourself in a kernel of knowing that will fit inside of us. But You cannot be contained in our minds, in our paltry understanding, or in our broken hearts.

You are bigger than that—vast, eternal. You fill us, overfull, and splash out onto those we touch. Your love only multiplies. The ringing of Your Truth reverberates throughout the galaxies, resounding through the entire universe. How can we think it is all contained in one book, in one heart, in one mind, in one planet? 

It is not that we do not need to know why—sometimes we cannot know an answer so immense. We are too close to see the whole, to see clearly. We cannot explain away pain, abandoned hearts, our death valleys, or all the other dark shadows that cross over our lives. Neither can we explain why the storm clouds come to us, or why the Light doesn't break through and scare all our monsters away. Maybe we aren't strong enough to endure the illuminating rays that would break those clouds, eliminate that darkness. Perhaps we are being made ready to bear the weight of light—something weightless in our world—that, coming from the heavenly realm, is so dense that it would crush us. 

In a moment of unknowing I whisper, But why, God? Then, I choose to hang my question on these spoken pegs of Hope, Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on us. I do not always know what that Mercy looks like in this moment, in this day, in this shadow world. What form will Mercy take? Sometimes His Mercy is severe. Once, it took the form of flesh, nailed to a cross—suffering with us.

God is not "out there" but right here, with us—even when I cannot feel Him or see Him, and the clouds do not part. He is not against me—or you. He does not say why He does what He does, or why He allows various things. He withholds His mighty hand at times, and I don't know why. I only know He will not leave us all alone.

Lord have mercy.

Christ have mercy.

Lord have mercy.

Grant us Your peace.

The Word Made Flesh...

"Nails, spear shall pierce Him through
The Cross be borne for me, for you
Hail, hail the Word made flesh
The Babe the Son of Mary"

—What Child is This?

"The Word was made flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen His glory..." So says Saint John's opening chapter. The Word was made flesh...The Eternal Word was spoken into time, was made into finite man, frail flesh. What did the Son of God gain by this? Insults, rejection, and threats of stoning. Nails, thorns, and a spear thrust into His side. He who was Light and Life was dealt a death-blow. Yet the darkness cannot overcome the light. Death is swallowed up in life. The Word sounding and resounding in time and space does not come back void. That Word is robust, full of Truth and grace.

Many times it seems that "hate is strong and mocks the song of peace on earth goodwill to men." That God's promises and gifts are puny next to the prince of the power of the air. However, when Paul says that death is swallowed up in life—and John truthfully proclaims that the darkness is expelled by the Light, unable to overcome it—we see that God's gifts are rich and vibrant next to shadowy, gnarled phantoms. We still live like a people sitting in darkness, trapped into thinking there is a monster in the shade...But the Light is dawning—more full of life, rich hues, and Truth than the paltry darkness that seeks to blind our seeing eyes. The Light is real. The promises are solid. The Hope of our souls was made flesh and He tabernacles among us. Now—and forevermore.

Hail, hail the Word made flesh!

Home: Advent Week 1

“If anyone loves me, he will keep my word, and my Father will love him, and we will come to him and make our home with him." (John 14:23)

Where is home for you? Maybe it is a place, person, or memory. Perhaps for you home is only a concept or a dream, something intangible and impossible to experience. By definition, home is a residence or world; a place one abides or dwells; something that is inhabited.1 Home, then, seems to be a coalescence of the real and the ideal. It is a place, but not just any place. After all, hotels, prisons, theatres, and alleys are places—and all might house persons—but they are not home. 

Home speaks of belonging, comfort, security, love. Even if the place is meagre, the persons imperfect, and the security tenuous, the acceptance and sense of belonging make the place rich, the people comfortable, the dwelling a fortress. And so it is—a fortress against the emotional and mental attacks of the world. Home is a place of rest and work; both of quiet and rambunctious clamour; love and even hate, but not of indifference. You may never have experienced home with your family, but perhaps you have with a particular group of friends, or in other friends' houses. A house is just a building, a family may be dysfunctional, a place is merely a location until all are animated with the spirit of home.

If this is so, let us marvel that Jesus left His rightful home to make His dwelling among us, as John says (John 1.14). Why would the Son of God give up the comfort—the acceptance—of home in order to make His dwelling among foolish, smelly, hard-headed humans? Why would Jesus take up residence inside the womb of an unmarried girl? We can only say that our Saviour, who is Love itself, willingly left His home to unite God and man. He became the connection between Heaven and Earth—the ladder to Heaven of Jacob's dream (Gen 28, see verse 12). In one step from Heaven to our little blue planet, Jesus began the process of joining the New Heavens and the New Earth. All because He loves us silly, smelly, heads-hard-as-a-nut humans.

Jesus left His first and best home to make His home here with us humans. In willingly laying down His life for us something unexpected happened: those who received the proclamation that Jesus is their true King were made citizens of Heaven. Heaven was now their world, their home. Step one had happened, but it was nothing so radical—shifting at the root—as the tandem step. Those who received King Jesus were now in fact Christ-haunted, as Flannery O'Connor calls this knowing Jesus. We might say Christ-inhabited, where our very selves—body, soul, and spirit—are the dwelling place of Christ.

Jesus wrapped our frail flesh around Himself in the Incarnation, but He did not stop there. He delved deeper, coming to live in us—through the Holy Spirit—once He returned home. This seems a paradox: Jesus goes home only to make those who believe in Him His home. I cannot pretend to explain holy mysteries like this. I am only now learning a little something about home being Love Himself, where I can be vulnerable and He receives me. Where I can admit how far I have fallen and He shows me that His redemption is deeper still...And when I run away, I can never outrun the One who makes His home in me (John 14:23).  

___________________

1. Online Etymology Dictionary, Home (n.)

Come Speak in Joy Untamed and Wild

Come, Lord Jesus, quickly come 
In Your fearful innocence. 
We fumble in the far-spent night 
Far from lovers, friends, and home: 
Come in Your naked, newborn might. 
Come, Lord Jesus, quickly come; 
My heart withers in Your absence.

Come, Lord Jesus, small, enfleshed 
Like any human, helpless child. 
Come once, come once again, come soon: 
The stars in heaven fall, unmeshed; 
The sun is dark, blood’s on the moon. 
Come, Word who came to us enfleshed, 
Come speak in joy untamed and wild.

Come, Thou wholly other, come, 
Spoken before words began, 
Come and judge Your uttered world 
Where You made our flesh your home. 
Come, with bolts of lightning hurled, 
Come, Thou wholly other, come, 
Who came to man by being man.

Come, Lord Jesus, at the end, 
Time’s end, my end, forever’s start. 
Come in Your flaming, burning power. 
Time, like the temple veil, now rend; 
Come, shatter every human hour. 
Come, Lord Jesus, at the end. 
Break, then mend the waiting heart.”

— Madeleine L’Engle, The Irrational Season

This might be my favourite poem of Madeleine's L'Engle's. I like it so much that all I can say is that you should read it at least three times. Ready? Set... Go.

"Words, Words, Words." (To Quote Shakespeare)

[Advent: Week 3]

"When Hugh and I went on a trip to Russia I almost didn't get a visa because our travel agent put down my occupation as writer. Writers think. Writers ask questions. Writers are dangerous. She finally persuaded 'them' that I write only for small children and was not a threat. In any dictatorship writers are among the first to be imprisoned, and vocabulary is quickly diminished and language deteriorates.  Writers, if their vocabulary is not leashed, are quick to see injustice, and rouse the people to do something about it. We need words with which to think; kill words and we won't be able to think and we'll be easier to manipulate."

~ Madeleine L'Engle, The Irrational Season (pg 164)

As I read this section of The Irrational Season today, a chill went through me. Madeleine L'Engle lived through WWII, Viet Nam, and the Cold War. She saw the devastating effects of tyranny, and what methods dictators used to cause them. We see that still, in China, North Korea, parts of the Middle East, and many other places where there is little or no free speech. In such places the oppressed do not know what is going on in the outside world, they are kept in the dark through force and propaganda.

Yet there is a different sort of tyranny running rampant in the 'free' West - the tyranny of disappearing words. We have heard the adage that talk is cheap, yet are still hurt and offended by various sleights, snubs, and insults. Sticks and stones might break our bones, but we all know that words spoken to us in vulnerable moments (childhood especially) may leave lasting scars. Our sneaking enemy bombards us with so many words each day that their meaning and weight is weakened. Advertisements and billboards, e-mails and printed leaflets and newspapers, words flashed on television screens, iPads, iPods, and other electronic devices. We can now communicate quickly with anyone in any part of the world, but our whole world aches with the loss of community. Our Western society is losing the ability to articulate as words like"selfie" are added to the dictionary, but even bright persons no longer know what 'widdershins' means; or they say words like 'impactful' in place of a real word like 'impacting' or 'meaningful.' 

Our insidious enemy, the State, is not removing words from dictionaries as much as they are removing them from circulation and common vernacular. Thus, the minds of the public are weakened. But words are strong. They can augment or crush. Words are the death of us in the throes of an argument. Or words can be life and hope breathed into us in a genuine compliment or observation. If we understand the power of words we can share ideas and ideals, vision and Truth. We can paint the canvas of the mind with vivid sunrises and sublime mountain ranges. Yet we can only do this well if we have the subtle colours provided us via a large vocabulary. Vocabulary is to the writer what the toolbox is the carpenter, or the palette is to the artist. Without the fine chisels or minute brushes, the artisan is unable to inlay the wood or paint delicate subtleties in his work. Without a vast wealth of words, the writer loses clarity and sharpness in his writing. Without a vast array of words, communication is fuzzy at best, muddled and hollow at worst. 

Even when the writer has the word bank needed to clearly communicate, his audience also needs a grasp of language. The reader must possess a desire to look up unfamiliar words in order to receive clarity and insight. He must, even before that, be willing to read. We live in a culture where we are too lazy to even read a blog post if it does not have photos with it; or where a magazine article, sermon, soundbite, or news clip has been made as brief as possible to retain the viewer's or listener's attention. We are sliding into the ground where we begin to lose context and perspective because we have shortened everything. The media overloading our eyes and ears and brains has shortened our attention spans. We can no longer listen to a speech three hours long, or spend the whole 4th of July listening to speeches, recitations, and singing. 

We want more action, more multi-tasking, and the rush of information, because we do not know what to do with silence. But the more information transmitted to us, the less meaningful it is. Sometimes an idea or a word is underlined best by minutes or hours of silence. Sometimes we have to stop reading so fast to look up an unfamiliar word in order to gain greater insight. The goal is not simply to finish a book, it is the be led out of ignorance and into Truth. 

We need words to be alive -- because at one tangible point in History, the Word Himself was made man and dwelt among us. He shrouded Himself in this fleshly body of death to bring us new Life. Words matter vastly in reality. It is by words that God spoke all that we see, smell, hear, sense, and know into existence. It is through the Word enfleshed that we are given the hope of stepping through the portal of death into the really real world of the High Countries. It is that Word that is making us less and less shadow-men, and more and more into solid creatures. Words are life - The Word is Life. The Word is the substance of Hope. That final Word of God is the Prince of Peace. Let us not rush past that Truth into vague and insipid thoughts and 'communication' (i.e. electronic exchanges in place of face-to-face meetings) this Advent. Let us listen to the Word when He says, "This is the way, walk in it." Let us ask questions. Let us live dangerously. Let us live.

~ Johanna

Man's Smudge and Smell

[Advent: Week 2]

No, there was no Advent: Week 1 post. I think I was a walking dream the first week of Advent, due to lack of sleep. This week I have not caught up much on sleep, but I think I am winding my way back to the cadence of the season. I have been watching the dance from the sidelines and am trying to join in on the right step.

One of my favourite lines from poetry reminds me very much of what Jesus came to do through the Incarnation - to share man's smudge and wear man's smell. God, in Jesus, wore the flesh and bone, the smell of a man. He who knew no sin became the smudge of sin for us. It is these things that the Incarnation reminds my heart. He knows my temptations, trials, hopes, fears, sorrows, and joys, because He, too, is a man.

I have probably posted this poem ad nauseam, but it is worth reading and re-reading. It is worth hearing the soul and spirit of the poem; the soul and spirit of the Holy Ghost breathing life at our brink, into our lungs and into our lives.  

The world is charged with the grandeur of God.

It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;

It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil

Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?

Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;

And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;

And wears man's smudge and shares man's smell: the soil

Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.

And for all this, nature is never spent;

There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;

And though the last lights off the black West went

Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs —

Because the Holy Ghost over the bent

World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.

~ God's Grandeur, Gerard Manley Hopkins

The Irrational Season

This is the irrational season

When love blooms bright and wild.

Had Mary been filled with reason

There'd have been no room for the child.

~ Madeleine L'Engle

I live in a community of persons who have spent at least two weeks of their lives immersed in ideas, reason, knowledge, and facts. This is wonderful for helping others understand Christianity from a historical and reasoned perspective.  It can also put up barriers for persons who need to know that God is not just 'out there' ruling the universe, but that He cares about us right here.

Reason is a lot like the marriage covenant, even when you do not feel like loving the other person, you have promised to do so. In the same way, even when your emotions tell you conflicting ideas about who God is, your understanding of historical events,  textual criticism, logic, et cetera help to anchor your soul.

We all know people who try to reach God by reason, or by following a set of rules. They want to get at God from the outside in, rather than letting Him work from the inside out. God works from faith toward reason. Being a Christian is not following myriads of regulations. Being a Christian is not about feeling happy, nor about feeling good because we are doing good things. Christianity is not based on blind faith, there is an astounding amount of evidence for God's existence. Christianity is not naked reason, either, because we are not mere minds. We are persons with bodies, souls, and spirits.

Had Mary been filled with reason

There'd have been no room for the child.

The Child. Christianity is not simply faith, nor not solely reason, because it is not a religious system. The person Jesus Christ is the heart of Christianity. The God of the universe, Jesus Christ, is at the heart of Christianity. This Child is both God and man. Both infant and infinite. Christianity is both rational and personal.

This is the irrational season
When Love blooms bright and wild.

~ Johanna

Kneading Rhythm

Sticky potato water and yeast. Mashed potatoes, flour, and butter. This past weekend found me combining these ingredients in a large earthenware bowl. My arms, jeans, and fingers were dusted in flour, or sticky with dough; the perfect picture of a bread-maker. If there is one thing I have learnt about bread-making these past four or five months, it is that you must knead the dough. Otherwise, you will have dense, flat, or crumbly bread. Kneading takes patience, knowing when to let the dough rest, and strength in one's wrists and forearms.

 

Kneading has a rhythm to it, pushing the dough away from you with the heels of your hands. Not too hard, or you will break the gluten strands. Not too softly, or you will not stretch the gluten strands enough, resulting in a flat or crumbly loaf.

Life has a rhythm as well. Over the past few years I have discovered the Church calendar, it keeps me stretched, but not broken. Though I grew up with Christian parents and siblings, we have been more evangelical than liturgical believers. Discovering the cadence of Advent, the twelve days of Christmas, Epiphany, Lent, the Transfiguration, Eastertide, Ascension Day, and so on continues to teach me to walk in the pattern of God's ways, to the glory of His Name. One strand upon another, like the kneading and resting of bread dough, these Church seasons make me stronger. Lent and Advent are like the heels of the Father's hands upon my heart, preparing me to make room for His Son. Christmas and Eastertide are the moments of resting in a comfy, warm (but not hot) oven.

The bread analogy breaks down at some point, of course. Still, I wonder how many times God prepares, kneads, and rests our hearts, allowing us to be baked in the fire of trials. I know that I 'knead' rhythm in my life: seasons; circadian rhythm; sleep cycles; hours in the day; days in the week - some for work, some for rest; night and day; pain and joy; work and play. You need routine and new experiences, too. We all do, whether we realise it or not. 

This post is my first in the Twelve Days of Christmas. I plan to wrap up on January 5th, the eve of Epiphany. I still have a lot to learn about the metre of life, in the Church calendar and otherwise. Over these twelve days I want to share something I'm thankful for, because one strand of life is gratitude. Over and again Scripture speaks of those who had great calamity fall upon them, yet their response was to praise God. Such was Job, when he had everything taken from him he said, "The LORD gives and the LORD takes away, blesséd be the Name of the LORD." And the Apostle Paul reminds us to give thanks in all things, for thanksgiving is God's will for us in Christ Jesus (I Thes 5.18).

“The greatest honour we can give Almighty God is to live gladly because of the knowledge of His love.” ~ Julian of Norwich

Today I am thankful for many, many things. However, I will choose to name the greatest gift ever given which makes even good health, family, freedom, food, unexpected calls from good friends, a job, a community of friends, and a home pale in comparison: I am thankful that God is not 'out there'.  I am humbled, blessed, and grateful beyond words that God is Emmanuel - God [here] with us.

~ Johanna

A Light Has Dawned

Great literature is full of contrasting themes: good and evil, truth and lies, light and dark, hope and despair - and the list continues. There is no exception in the story of the Incarnation. It is the moment of turning in The Great Story of Scripture, in all of history no less.

Themes of creation, fall, and redemption weave throughout Scripture. Themes of sin, repentance, a remnant, and renewal pervade the Old Testament and carry on through the New. Look at the first contrast in Genesis, see that God made the light and separated it from the darkness. Light and dark become themes through the rest of Scripture.

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things were made through Him, and without Him nothing was made that was made. In Him was life, and the life was the light of men. And the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not comprehend [overcome] it. ~ John 1:1-5

This Light was prophesied hundreds of years prior to John penning these words (words that echo the creation in Genesis 1). Isaiah also spoke of the division of light and dark:

The people who walked in darkness
Have seen a great light;
Those who dwelt in the land of the shadow of death,
Upon them a light has shined.
(Isaiah 9:2)

Little did Isaiah know that the Messianic prophecy would be met in baby born under Roman rule several hundred years later. However, Zacharias knew the prophet's words. They reverberate in his song in Luke chapter one:

“And you, child, will be called the prophet of the Highest;
For you will go before the face of the Lord to prepare His ways,
To give knowledge of salvation to His people
By the remission of their sins,
Through the tender mercy of our God,
With which the Dayspring from on high has visited us;
To give light to those who sit in darkness and the shadow of death,
To guide our feet into the way of peace.”
(Luke 1:76-79)

Who is this Light that Isaiah, John, and Luke cannot cease describing? Why, He is the theme of the Story. He is the Light from on High that enters into a world thrust into darkness by pride, grasping, and sinful desires. He is Emmanuel, God with us.

For unto us a Child is born,
Unto us a Son is given;
And the government will be upon His shoulder.
And His name will be called
Wonderful, Counselor, Mighty God,
Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.

Of the increase of His government and peace
There will be no end,
Upon the throne of David and over His kingdom,
To order it and establish it with judgement and justice
From that time forward, even forever.
The zeal of the Lord of hosts will perform this.

(Isaiah 9:6-7)

Merry Christmas!

~ Johanna

What Child is This?

Why lies He in such mean estate,
Where ox and lamb are feeding?
Good Christians, fear, for sinners here
The silent Word is pleading.

Nails, spear shall pierce Him through,
The cross be borne for me, for you,
Hail, hail the Word made flesh,
The Babe, the Son of Mary.

'What Child is This?' is one of my favourite Christmas carols, particularly because of this verse. When I was younger I didn't know or understand the following phrase very well: 'Good Christians, fear, for sinners here the silent Word is pleading.'

The Word, The One who spoke the world into existence, is mute (save for crying and cooing) in the arms of His very own creation. Yet God becomes a speechless baby, pleading for the salvation and redemption of mankind. Truly, the Incarnation is one of two miracles that always astounds and arrests my attention (the other being the resurrection).

'Hail, hail the Word made flesh, the Babe, the Son of Mary.'

A blessed Advent season to you, dear friends and readers!

~ Johanna

And We Are Filled With Joy...

The LORD has done great things for us,
and we are filled with joy.

~ Psalm 126:3 (NiV)

What has the LORD done for you today that has filled you with joy?

Here is my list from the weekend:

• Good Summit friends from across the country converging in Colorado
• Sunset in Estes Park over jagged, snow-capped peaks across a still lake
• Bouldering with awesome friends
• Photo shoots
• RED maple trees at Celestial Seasonings factory, and all around Boulder in general
• Extreme yellow cottonwood-type trees along the river
  
• Good chilli at Snarf's sammich shop
• Fantastic conversations
• Fun and hoopla @ the Stonestreet's
  
• Laughing so hard that we cried @ Savannah's awesome stories
• Really, really good food - especially avocados
• Reading/Finishing Perelandra
• Good hymns and service at St. George's this morning + Middle School FUSE ;)
  
• Phone calls from good friends needing a listening ear and advice (and the same friends giving good advice and exhibiting humility)
• Amazing cups of tea with cream and sugar
  
• Liverwurst sammiches w/avocados
• John Michael Talbot and Michael Card music to chill out with in the evening
• Time to write letters
  
• A heated blanket on my comfy bed, and just having a bed!
  
• My car running like a champion through the Mountains and the Beautiful drive to/through Estes Park (and the moosen we saw in the woodsen!)
  
• Fun hikes and lovely walks
  
• Cold nights with clear skies and no moon; perfect for viewing the stars
• My friends Joseph and Edna who always bless me with good conversation and sweet, unlooked-for gifts
• Considering and mulling over the fact that at a literal point in history, God wasn't a man and that at one specific time He set aside His rightful glory and splendour to be clothed in flesh to share man's smudge and smell
• Psalm 126 (check out the end after the above verse... Soooo good!)

Ah! And there is a new week ahead to gather more realisations that God has done great things for us...

...And I am filled with joy!



~ Johanna